


Imitosis

by kim47



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ANDERSON HAS FEELINGS TOO, Angst, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47/pseuds/kim47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: For some reason, I have a sudden urge to Anderson h/c or angst. C'mon, he's gotta be more than just a one-sided annoyance purely there for Sherlock to pester - he's got to have his fears and worries and heartaches and insecurities, just like any other person. I'd like to see some of them~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imitosis

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 14/09/2011
> 
> Title from Andrew Bird.

The sound of the door slamming is one he's heard before. It reverberates through the flat, sending tiny shivers through the ancient wooden floorboards.

Julia has always had a talent for making an exit.

He slumps back on the bed, staring at the small water stain in the corner of the ceiling. He's memorised it, its exact shape and shades, he could draw it from memory. Too many nights spent lying awake, waiting for her to find out, waiting for her to leave.

Now she's gone and he's still fucking staring at it.

And the whispers in his head, the ones that say _two failed marriages, well, well, you're halfway there, one more and you'll practically_ be _him_ , are louder than ever.

"It's not my fault," he whispers to the uncaring room.

It's not, not entirely. It's not his fault that Julia had been fucking the twenty-one year old kid who works at the coffee shop down the street for six months before he worked it out, it's not his fault that he sometimes works at ridiculous hours and they could end up not seeing each other for days. It's not his fault that he smokes too much. It's not his fault that Sally is _fucking_ gorgeous and smart and _there_.

Some of it is his fault.

He falls asleep eventually, on top of the crumpled bed spread, even though it's only four in the afternoon. He has odd, disconnected dreams, just a sequence of jumbled images, blurring together into meaninglessness.

It's darkened almost to night when he wakes up, stiff-necked from his slightly awkward sleeping position. He sighs and tries to rub the knots out of his shoulders.

A crash from the kitchen is the first indication that he's no longer alone in their - his - flat.

His first thought is _oh Christ, she's back, and she's breaking things now_ , but when no second crash follows the first, he dismisses the idea, and hauls himself off the bed.

Sally is kneeling on his kitchen floor, sweeping the shards of a broken mug into a dustpan. Her tall, slender frame looks incongruous huddled in his tiny kitchen. She looks up when he enters, and winces.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she says hurriedly. "I just - I thought that you might want some company, and I still have a key, I was just making some tea and..." She shrugs and gestures to the floor. "Did I wake you?"

He shakes his head silently, still staring at her until she almost blushes and looks down.

"I can go, I'm sorry, I didn't think," she says and she stands awkwardly, brushing the fragments of china into the bin and putting the dustpan and brush away.

"Sally," he manages, finally able to squeeze the words out around the horrible, painful thing that's taken up lodging in his throat, constricting his ability to breathe and feel and think. She looks at him, straight in the eye.

"Stay," he says.

She steps towards him instantly, wrapping her arms tight around him and pressing her face into his shoulder. He responds automatically, pressing her to him, marvelling slightly at the way the lump shrinks slightly, the way the razor sharp edges of the pain are blunted, just a little bit.

"David," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

He laughs, unbelievably. It's small and quiet, but it's a laugh.

"Me too," he says, and holds on.  
  



End file.
